


What It Is, What It Isn't

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Introspective view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: In their quieter moments, how do Goniff and Meghada view this new closeness of theirs?  In their own words . . .





	What It Is, What It Isn't

(Goniff's POV)

Coo, it's cold in 'ere! Don't 'elp that we got soaking wet making our way outta that jeep after it crashed, or that we're blistering tired after walking all the rest of the way, dodging patrols every time we turned a corner. Don't think about it, Goniff! Just think about something else. Better not think about food, though; been too long since we've 'ad anything to eat.

Still, wonder what 'Gaida would be fixin if I was there right now. Something nice, no doubt about that, always seems to come up with something, no matter what time I wander in. First words outta 'er mouth, well, almost the first words, is something like, "are you cold, do you want something to drink?" She don't bother to ask me the last part, what she asks the other guys, "are you 'ungry?" She knows the answer to that right enough, and always ready to do something about it. She's good to me like that; well, good to all of us, but especially me.

Oh, I 'eard the talk, make no mistake. About 'ow I'm after 'er for all kinds of reasons, the wrong kind of reasons. Like someone to be a convenient bedpartner, someone with a bit of money and property, someone for a convenient alibi when I get up to mischief, a soft place to land after the war maybe. And lots more. Like she was some naive little miss, easy to con, easy to 'and out favors! 'Ow they could think she'd built the reputation she 'ad, and still be taken in by me, I can't figure out. I pretty much ignore all that, as much as I can, just like she ignores what's said about me and 'er.

Still, gets me thinking about what it really is - the why, I mean. She gave me 'er reasons, and some of them I can understand somewhat, though it seems she sees things, well, sees me, a whole lot different than I do. But some of them? They're Clan type things, which means I probably won't ever really understand, but that's alright; she says it's not so important to understand those things, just accept what is. Well, I'm not likely to be explaining my own reasons to anyone else, don't rightly know they're anyone's business, but seems a good way to pass the time. You won't tell anyone, anyways; you're just a little brown mouse, stuck 'ere in wherever the ruddy 'ell we are, busy with whatever mice are busy with, sides that little crumb of whatever it is you're nibbling at. And I'd like to tell you, I think. After all, it's the middle of the night, we're stuck in this miserable mudpit waiting for the Warden and Actor to make it back, we're too ruddy tired and worried to talk to each other, and too keyed up to sleep, even the two of us not on watch. So . . .

Now, believe it or not, the property, the money doesn't figure into it, not one bit. The fact that she's a fine cook, oh, that's an attraction, of course, especially for a man like me, one who's always 'ungry. You 'ave to appreciate someone who satisfies that 'unger, relishes satisfying it even; 'ell, there's more than one 'unger she satisfies, and maybe that's at the root of it all.

See, it's not just food I've been 'ungry for, maybe for most of my life, but lots of other things. Most of it things just about everyone is 'ungry for, probably, just I never thought I'd ever find any of it. Things like 'aving someone who'd look at me, really look, inside and out, and understand and like what they saw, could understand and accept whatever was there, even the ugly, uncomfortable little bits. 'Aving someone who wanted to share things with me, like 'er garden and 'er cottage, reading and music and talk and things like that, like I wasn't just some little no account nobody, but was someone worth sharing such things with. Someone who reached out for me because she wanted me, even knowing she could 'ave just about anyone she crooked 'er finger at, officer, toff, most anybody, but wanting me instead. Even when she tried to protect me, look out for me, even that was different. I mean, it wasn't like she thought she 'ad to because I was 'elpless or stupid or weak; no, it was just that she cared so much that it came natural. The first time I realized that, it about floored me, you know? Well, something as new, as different as that, it would.

Moreover, she trusted me. Not just with being inside the Cottage with 'er, not just with the safe and the rest of 'er valuables, but knowing things about 'er and 'er family she didn't share with too many, and with other things. Like, when we 'eaded out after the Warden and Casino, just 'er, me and Chiefy, and I asked 'er for 'er spare blade, she didn't question me, not even to give me the kind of look anyone else might 'ave given, like 'and w'at do you think you would be able to do with it anyway?'; no, she trusted I knew w'at I was about and just 'anded it over, though I'd pretty much downplayed any skill in the close-up fighting.

Later, when I asked 'er about a weapon for me to carry, something that wouldn't be recognized so easily as one, she didn't even blink an eye, just asked, "blade, hand or throwing? Marek makes some interesting ones, variations on a palm knife mostly, but can be rigged for a belt buckle or to fit inside the heel of a boot. Has a couple of items that can fit inside the side seam of a shirt or pants. Throwing points can fit in as collar stays and elsewhere. Garrotte, poison? Rings or buttons can be rigged for those, and the hem of just about anything. Something with bullets is harder to come by, well, without it being recognized, though I've seen it done; usually comes in two or three pieces and has to be snapped together, so not so convenient, but handy if you've the time. Not Marek's thing, but I think Sandlehorn still does some of that. Would have to be specially commissioned and might take some time. I've a range set up in the third cottage, not obvious, but there if you know where to find it; I'll show you; you'll need to practice at whatever you choose so you're not hesitant when you need it, but you know that of course."

I 'ad to sit back and laugh at 'ow easy and calm she took it, taking it serious and all, but not shocked or acting like it wasn't something she'd be expecting from me. See, that's w'at I mean, about seeing inside me, accepting. We talked it over, came up with a couple, three options and she saw to it next time she went up to London. I'm never without one of those, maybe more; aint used em often, may never need em again, but the way things go, it just feels better knowing I've an ace or two tucked up my sleeve.

She saw me, she trusted me, and she needed me - that's a powerful combination, you know? Got some teasing, the both of us, after it was over, but during that time, well . . . We were protecting some muckety-muck's family; real welcoming lot, the type you were glad to be leaving behind you at the end of the job - the Merriweather family - I'll 'ave to tell you about that one of these days. Anyway, when the rush came, we were ready, and took most of them in a real dust-up, but a pair of them 'eaded off to the tikes' rooms, Chiefy and 'Gaida moving quick after them. By the time we got there, the nanny was screeching at the top of 'er lungs, two little ones doing the same, and the pair of bad guys were dead. Wasn't til we got them dragged out, and left the 'ousekeeper and another couple of females to straighten out things up there, that we realized one of them 'ad gotten in a good swipe at 'Gaida, and that's just w'at it was, like claw marks across 'er ribs and stomach, more like an animal had been at 'er than a man. "Fighting talons, and dipped in something I think," she'd said, all matter of fact like, "burns like crazy," and when we checked their 'ands, sure enough, one of them was wearing these metal claws; we took them with us, just like she said.

The Merriweather's, 'im and 'is wife, son, couple of older daughters were all yammering about the mess and the noise and 'ow they'd expected better, and such nonsense, like we 'adn't just kept a gang of the nastiest from leaving them all bloody corpses or worse, but we pretty much ignored them. Let the military take care of them and all the rest and 'eaded back for Brandonshire, Meghada wanting to see Dr. Riley and none other, getting real agitated over it when the Lieutenant wanted to stop at that little 'ospital 'er family uses. Know now, of course, part of that was the poison talking, shoulda just stopped there anyway, but then, not so much. Settled 'er down between the Warden and Actor in the back seat; would 'ave preferred being back there myself, but the Warden laid it all out and wasn't much I could do, not then. Now, acourse, I'd argue against it, and would probably be able to convince them.

By the time Doc Riley met up with us at the Mansion, she was shivering and fighting off everyone's trying to 'elp, wouldn't even settle down for the doctor. By then I didn't much care what anyone thought, just saw those big goldy-brown eyes looking at me, and I knew w'at I 'ad to do. Got some odd looks, and the Warden started to shake 'is 'ead and tell me to keep back, but Doc Riley told 'im it was alright, told me to go a'ead. Settled down in that big chair beside 'er, just like we'd done before, pulled 'er up close and she just kinda sighed real deep and laid 'er 'ead up against me and relaxed, let the doc do w'at 'e needed to.

Afterwards, 'e asked if I was alright staying there for awhile since she was resting quiet, and well, acourse I was; didn't really want to be anywhere else, to tell the truth; felt right, you know, 'olding 'er up close, just asked for a blanket or something over us, and I could feel 'er getting easier minute by minute. 'E asked 'er something, don't know w'at, 'im speaking that other language they talk in sometimes, and she just murmured, real soft and low, but in English, "yes, please. He warms me, heart and soul he does, and I've been so cold inside, AJ, so cold," and moved in even closer, though I wouldn't've thought that possible til she did it; coo, felt like she was inside my skin, stead of just up next to it. I kept 'earing 'er say that, over and over in my mind, and realized then I could say the same thing, 'she warms me, 'eart and soul, and I've been so ruddy cold inside, and for so long!'. I didn't even bother to look at the guys, at the Warden to see w'at they thought about that, just dropped a kiss on top of 'er 'ead, and closed my eyes. Later, felt someone close and looked up to see a shadow, don't know whose, but whoever it was put another blanket over us and snugged it close and left, and I settled back down to drowse, my 'Gaida tight against me.

I woke to those big eyes looking at me, her voice all whispery, "do I have anything to apologize for?" and I 'ugged 'er and whispered back, "not a thing, luv, not one blessed thing!" Like I said, we got some teasing afterwards, but nothing mean, and while I think Chiefy might 'ave been the only one to really understand, the others just accepted it as part of 'er reaction to being poisoned by those claws. We know better, 'er and me; that keeps me warm some nights like tonight, when the wind is blowing and it's wet and cold and muddy, and we're up to our ruddy necks in krauts. Bet she'll make me scones and 'ot tea when we get back. Maybe soup. You'd like 'er soup, little mouse, along with 'er scones (yawn), you'd. . . like. . . . . . . .

***

Meghada's POV:

What is the main thing? What are the, shall we say, side effects? Do I even understand anymore? Do I care? Is it even important?

I suppose Kevin Richards, in his imperialistic and autocratic way, started me on this path, what with his demand that I analyze the WHY of my new, most unexpected relationship. While I rejected that, telling him that dissecting any living thing is a messy process, resulting in the death of what you are dissecting, still, I found myself thinking of that conversation. No, I do not intend to pick and prod at the WHY of it all, yet gaining a clear view of the WHAT could be most enlightening, perhaps add even more to the rich reality of it all.

Today is perhaps the ideal time for that. I am well rested, have been well loved in the nighttime, am looking forward to gathering with him and the others later at the pub for an evening of pleasure and comradeship. Yes, perhaps today is the right time for introspection.

The air in the garden is warm and moist, with just a hint of a breeze. As the brush of air awakens my senses and teases at my skin, similarly does it awaken knowledge within me, an awareness of the changes that have come to me. I am so much more now, still the Dragon, still the Warrior of course, but somehow a Dragon no longer isolated in the cold swirling mists atop a distant mountain, but a Dragon securely in her lair, surrounded by texture and sound, a Dragon with a growing lush sensuality. It's all coming back - taste, sound, touch, sight, smell, that last indescribable something; all of that once was commonplace to me as a child and briefly thereafter, all I'd gradually seen diminish and fade over the past years in contract service, so that my life, my perception had taken on only hues of grey and black, with occasional unwelcome splashes of blood red. My mind had become occupied with the mission, the job, the brief but transitory and muted interaction with those also connected to the job, those others with whom I came into momentary contact. Now, I am no longer content to be alone, aloof, no longer content just with duty and responsibility. I try to tease it all out of my mind, lay it out in front of me to try to see how all the pieces fit together. Briefly my mind goes to that polyptych I viewed in my early years, four paintings of a Dragon within her lair, guarding her treasure trove, and I smile at the remembering of the richness that lay within those paintings, at the lessons my mother had drawn from those paintings. The lessons, perhaps the promise that lay within as well.

I reach for the first pieces of the puzzle, the first of the cards - 

Not surprising, those cards, seeing as how a Dragon is primarily a creature of the senses. The pungent scent of herbs when I cook for him; the tantilizing aroma of spice when I bake for him. The taste of his skin on my tongue - tobacco and tea and whiskey, mingled with the tang and sweetness of ripe strawberries and wild honey. The feel of the knife in my hand when I prepare the meal, the sizzle of the oil, the colors and shapes of the vegetables in the pan. The heat from the oven rising to touch my cheeks. The sharp bite of bitter greens and garlic and hot pepper and aged cheeses. The softness of his hair, the sweet arch of his throat and the feel of his pulse under my hand. The warmth of the sun on my back as I gather the harvest for the meals that will provide for him and his brothers, the feel of the rich earth in my hands. The garden seems more in focus, the colors richer somehow, as do the colors and lines of the faces and forms of those who now mean something special to me - the flaxen color of his hair, the blue of his eyes; other eyes, green, brown, black, each with features now familiar and welcome. The sound of the kettle whistling sometimes as if in happiness, othertimes sounding like a bugle calling me to action; bird calls from the apple trees and the forest beyond, the sharp bark of the foxes who live there. The heady scent of musk and myrrh when he comes to completion; the underlying scent that is his essence - musk, mint, sweet sage - a scent I would know, would follow anywhere; a scent that could perhaps rouse me from death itself. 

All of those things I have laid out before me like an opening hand in a game of cards, and yet there are many more cards still waiting to be displayed. I search farther, letting each new discovery come to my hand as it wishes. I try to make no pattern, overlay no meaning; for now, it is the cards that do speak, telling me what they have to tell.

The ever-so-unexpected opening of the pathway to the music again, music that not only appears as I search for it, but music that pulses strongly, demanding to be given voice and form, demanding release as it once did so many years ago. That first glance of recognition as he perched, posed there on that stone wall for all the world like a medieval gargoyle come to life, that quick flash of "there he is, finally!" The pleasure, sometimes sharp and piercing like a knife, sometimes warm and sleepy like a lazy cat in the sunshine, of seeing him contented, warm, fed, happy, safe. The tingle in my fingers when I touch him, the ache when I must deny myself that sensation. The feel of rightness when he touches me, the feeling of coming home after a long, far too long journey. The fire within me, the passion both in the joining with him, and in the desire to protect him, the passion aroused when facing and defeating our common enemies, fire where there had once been only a deep cold lake gradually turning to ice. The pain of worrying about him and his brothers; the glad realization that that pain is a sign I am again returning to life inside. 

Perhaps there is more to be found, more that will come to light, but this is enough to ponder for now. I do not seek to understand what exists so much as I seek to see, truly SEE what exists, so that I can appreciate each small piece of it, all that has been granted to me by the blessings of the Sweet Mother.

All my life I have been Dragon, trying since my spirit quest to learn what that meant for me, Meghada ru Dragan, daughter, sibling, child, woman, warrior. Dragons are one of the rare ones, along with hippogriff, griffin, arion, manticore. We're not like the wolf or one of the panthera or another of the common ones; we rarely have a teacher of our own kind, one who can teach us about our own nature, our weaknesses and our strengths, the dangers and joys inherent in our very being. So much we have to learn on our own. There have been so few of us, one born not even every generation.

We have the journals of course, and our legends, but that can tell us only so much. I have read each journal concerning my kind, heard every legend, searched out any hint of knowledge, yet there is so little. This I know from my research, from my own experience - to be a Dragon is very likely to be a creature alone, increasingly alone. Only a few of the Dragons have mated, even fewer have born children. Some, a very few, have dwelt within the Clan, some choosing to dwell apart but close by, still with a strong connection. A great many, however, have pulled away, serving the Clan but becoming more and more a creature apart. There were those who simply faded into the mists, unable to maintain enough of a hold on this world to remain.

Once I could see me drifting along that same path, further and further away from this world, at the end not being reluctant to part from it, though preferably doing so in a good and worthy battle; I am, after all, still a Warrior. Now, now I feel the threads binding me here, threads of blue and gold and green and all the other colors I see around me, threads strong and warm with the heat of the sun. I am a Dragon Bound, but bound so sweetly I can only cherish my bonds and never regret them.


End file.
